


Right Where I Want To Be

by jade_maiden_333



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Snow, Tea, cabin in the woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9322280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jade_maiden_333/pseuds/jade_maiden_333
Summary: Between you and me, I think that the blood oranges are what did it.





	

A single light shone from the cabin in the middle of the snowy woods. White-flecked fir crowded the tiny retreat and if it weren’t for the fact that it opened to a clearing, it might never feel the warmth of sunshine on its hemlock eaves.

Dean stood watch at the window of the warm house, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He should've been back by now. He checked his watch.

“Where are you, man?” he muttered.

He threw another glance through the frosted pane. Nothing. No one on the path. No sound of a vehicle approaching. With no more than a hour left of daylight, Dean was torn between walking to the main road or calling the sheriff. But Cas had only been gone a couple of hours. Cell phone coverage was spotty up here. If the car had broken down or if Cas had taken a wrong turn--

Stop it. Cas was a grown man running a simple errand, he was more than capable. Give it time. Dean moved over to the stove and touched the side of the coffee pot. Still hot. He poured half a cup into his mug, leaning against the sink, intentionally keeping his back to the window. He surveyed the room, able to see everything from his vantage point. He had to admit it was a nice place. Rough hewn timber and stone walls.The cabinetry in the kitchen and embellishments in the loft took weeks for him and Cas to complete. It was designed with simple lines, loving care and, he recalled, an occasional spate of profanity. Together they managed to turn a roof and four walls into a home.

He studied the shelves that they’d put up on either side of the sink. Cas filled them with his favorite teas, carefully organized by variety. Black, oolong, green and white. There was chamomile, yerba mate and something suspiciously called Rooibos, a name which Dean was sure Cas just made up on the spot. The shelves were cluttered with infusers, strainers, presses and kettles. Dean marvelled at the lengths Cas would go for a simple cup of hot water and leaves. Cas regularly tried to convince him how much he’d love the drink if he’d just give it a chance. Still he refused, feeling guilt tug at his heart even as Cas smiled that crooked, stubborn, beautiful way. 

But it wasn't just the smile was it? Dean wasn’t certain why he was reluctant to give in on such a small thing. Somehow it seemed profoundly intimate, sharing something that Cas treated with such reverence. They did everything together; worked, played, fucked. He didn’t pretend to understand his certainty that if they had breached this last barrier, this one small thing, it would be a shared intimacy beyond all of the others and there would be no turning back. No second thoughts or do-overs, and the finality of it scared him.

The living room table still held the bag of oranges that Cas had picked up from their last trip into town, explaining to Dean that they were exceptionally sweet and juicy blood oranges. Dean had laughed out loud at the imagery that particular description evoked, only managing to stifle it at Cas’ warning look. Sure enough, Cas had the last laugh the next morning, sitting a cold glass of freshly squeezed orange juice next to Dean’s bowl of frosted flakes. It looked liked a California sunset and tasted like heaven. Dean quickly downed the juice, swallowing past his cartoon heart visibly beating through his chest. Cas watched him from across the table, tea mug cradled in his hands and wisps of steam curling around his smile. 

Cas was everywhere in the house. In the tea. In the clothing and shoes we refused to put away properly. A master craftsman, he was literally in the walls. Cas was in the Turkish rug he picked up while driving past a flea market in town. Dean looked down and toe’d at the worn tapestry with his boot. It was ratty and old and the geometric motif didn’t match anything in the room but Cas insisted it belonged. Dean didn't have it within him to refuse him that one. He shook off the memory noticing that he’d somehow returned to staring out the window. The day had faded enough to mirror his worried reflection back at him. He set the empty mug into the bottom of the sink and lingered there, gripping the sinks ledge. Nascent fear stirred his belly. He should have told Cas that whatever it was that he felt he needed could keep. He should have told him that they could go back into town tomorrow, or the next day.

Dean crossed the cabin floor, ignoring the familiar creak of the loose plank he kept meaning to fix. He bent down, picking up Cas’ discarded flannel shirt. It was his favorite, so much so that he had to threaten the man to get him to relinquish it long enough to launder it. You have other shirts, Cas. They don’t clean themselves. Smiling, Dean bunched it up, tipping his nose into it. He closed his eyes, pressing the fabric to his face, pulling the scent deep into his lungs. Moments ticked by as he stood wavering in the middle of the room, head lost in his half of their shared memories.

Screw it. He put the shirt on the table and reached for his coat. He rummaged through a kitchen drawer until he found a flashlight, jamming it into his pocket. Dampening the fire in the stove, he left the light on and opened the door to the cold.

He walked the path, ice and snow crunching under his boots. The way was a white carpet winding along the snow bloated tree line. Dusk threw the trees and bushes into indeterminate shapes while Dean followed the path the mile to the main road. The frigid night air bit at him and he coughed as it lanced through his lungs. He had probably made a mistake. He was a man of action and thinking things through was not his strong suit. He relied on Cas to talk him out of his more hare-brained ideas, and well, this was the kind of thing that happened when Cas was not around.

The wind had picked up, pulling at his coat and making his ears and the tip of his nose sting. Good. Pain was good. He’d worry when he couldn’t feel them anymore. He stood on a patch of frozen soil just off the road, looking up and down the stark black strip, grateful that it was too cold to snow. He squinted into the distance, seeing a sodium-tinted glow hovering above the glistening road. Headlights. He stamped his feet against the cold, waiting and watching the illumination slowly sharpen into familiar boxy headlamps. 

Dean ventured forward while the old black beast of a car pulled to a stop, the driver stretching across the long seat to manually roll down the passenger window.

“What the hell, Dean.” Cas frowned up at him, his tone strained with worry.

Embarrassed, he scowled back, but ultimately he didn’t care. He was too relieved. He leaned into the car’s window sheepishly grinning at Cas.

“I got worried that you had car trouble.”

Rolling his eyes, Cas threw the car into park, scooting over to the passenger seat. “Get in the car before you freeze to death, babe.”

When they made love that night, it was like the songs said. He lived with the expectation that one day, it would not feel so amazing. So good. It would not curl his toes, tie his tongue and make him feel like the bundle of the madrone burning merrily in the fireplace downstairs. But it did. Every time. Cas moved and he could feel every single inch of him. His entire universe became Cas’ hands, and Cas’ mouth and the sheer bulk and heat and immensity of Cas. His skin was flushed and his hair was sweaty and when his mouth fell open he made sounds that no self respecting man would admit to. Cas laid a path of nibbles and kisses along his jawline, finding his mouth where breathing became just one more thing that they shared. 

Later, in the quiet of the tiny cabin they lay in their bed listening to the sounds the woods made at night. They kicked the duvet to the bottom of the bed, sex having made the loft body-heat warm. They tangled together, sticky and bathed in moonlight. Dean closed his eyes, giving in to the scent, taste and feel of Cas.

“Warm enough?”

“Mmm.”

They were quiet for a few moments. Then Cas said, “I brought back some honey.”

“You did?”

Cas nodded into the top of his head, long fingers carding gently through his hair. He kept his ear pressed to Cas’ chest, listening to the rhythmic cardiac lub-dub and whoosh of his breathing. The harmony of breath and heartbeat made him sleepy, horny, happy, safe. It made his own heart swell until he was afraid that he’d burst.

“What do you want to do with it? Any ideas?”

Dean lifted his head, chin nestled in the dip of firm muscle. He wished that they could stop time. Live forever in that moment. Seeing Cas, that crooked stubborn beautiful smile. Eyes warm and liquid in the velvet darkness of the loft in the cabin they built, the life they built. Dean realized that he was too late. He had already given Cas everything.

“I hear it tastes great in tea.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a participant in [Weekend Writing Marathon](http://weekendwritingmarathon.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://metatron-the-transformer.tumblr.com/), and please--don't be a stranger!


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